


Nanticoke Street, Baltimore

by azephirin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Angst, Baltimore, Breakfast, Exhaustion, Implied Pairing, Kissing, M/M, Morning, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what you do in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nanticoke Street, Baltimore

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/profile)[**rejeneration**](http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/)'s prompt "county jail, total bitchface, a begrudging smile." I'm sorry it got all emo!

It's early, the sun still sunk so deep that the sky is the color of a bruise. Dean, stiff and achy from the hunt, inexplicably insomniac, stands in front of the toaster, waiting for it to ding. He's not even hungry, but this is what you do in the morning—get up, make coffee, eat. Get up the next day, do it all again.

Sam and his dad are still asleep upstairs, Dad on the second floor, Sam on the third. High above them in this rickety row house in southwest Baltimore. The biggest place they've ever lived, but it's falling apart—the way they're falling apart, Dean thinks. He saw the letter in Sam's backpack, knows where he's going in the fall. Just a few months now.

Dean leans on the counter, head in his hands, and he only realizes he's almost asleep on his feet when a pair of arms encircle him. He jumps, but the lanky limbs are strong, and Sam's hands rest on his chest and belly, warm and certain.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean hisses. "Do you want us both to wind up in the county jail?"

"We're in our own house, Dean." The voice is full of its usual affectionate exasperation, and Sam's chin comes to rest on Dean's shoulder.

Dean hates it when he does that.

"Then how about Dad?" Dean goes on, which is really the more pertinent point. The Baltimore PD are not about to pour into an unremarkable run-down house on Nanticoke Street and bust them for suspected incest. Their father, however, would kill them. Kill Dean, anyway. And, Dean thinks, he would not necessarily be wrong.

"Still asleep," says Sam.

"He could wake up any minute."

"Except he's not going to," Sam says, "because he drank enough Jack last night to tranquilize a horse, and anyway we'd hear him on the stairs." He doesn't move, and the warmth of his body is sinking into Dean's back, and Dean hates himself for leaning into it. "So can I have a piece of that?" Sam asks.

Dean manages to free himself from Sam's never-ending limbs right as the toast pops up. "No," he says. "Make your own."

The bitchface is so total, you'd think Dean had just stolen Sam's lunch money and kicked his dog.

"Oh, fine," Dean relents, and butters the second piece. He hands it to his brother, and Sam leans against the counter to eat it, contentedly shoving his way into Dean's space until they're pressed shoulder to shoulder. Too close like they always are, and Dean doesn't move away.

Dean can't help a begrudging smile. "I made coffee. You want some?"

Sam kisses the butter off Dean's lips. "No." He pushes Dean against the peeling laminate, and they kiss again like it's exactly what they both meant to do right then. Like it's inevitable. "I'm going back to bed," Sam says, and pulls away, slowly and with intent.

Dean stands there, fingers tight on the countertop's edge, knuckles white. He only lets go when he's sure he can keep himself from following.


End file.
